When I was growing up, three words were sacrosanct in my house: Hafo (Harvard), Yelu (Yale), and M.I.T. (granted, that’s an acronym, but the Massachusetts Institute of Technology is a cruel mouthful for immigrant parents whose second language is English). The first time I visited the East Coast, where my dad attended some physics conference, I toured the Harvard, M.I.T., and Brown campuses, and all I got was a lousy Harvard t-shirt. That seems significant in hindsight. I guess Harvard was, even in my world of Great Hardass Asian Expectations, the crème de la crème.

Four years later, when it came time to apply to colleges, I knew that applying early bettered your chances of getting accepted, and you could only do that for one school, so I chose Yale. It was completely random and I still don’t know why that became my first choice. I am convinced that being first-generasian from a bumfuck Texas town helped get me in, and once that happened, I was so shocked, bewildered, and stoked that I didn’t consider other colleges (even though it nearly cost my parents their house and I immediately went into heavy student debt).

I never perceived any real difference between the two universities, unlike my roommate Mimi’s Hardass Asian Mom, who thought Yale was a safety school and was disappointed for four years that her daughter hadn’t gotten into the big H. The Harvard-Yale game always sucked, because the football sucked, the cheerleaders sucked, the marching bands sucked (on purpose in Yale’s case), the crowd chants sucked, and I’ve always maintained that tailgating–the raison d’etre of that game–is for football pussies. But I could never quite muster up the energy to yell, “Harvard Sucks.”

Diana thinks that Harvard grads have limp handshakes (sorry RJ and Kathy), but I know plenty of “Yalies” (vomits in mouth) who do, too. Because of my early indoctrinasian, I’ve only held Harvard in high esteem–it was Yale in prettier environs–until this week, when I learned that the Harvard Lampoon named Paris Hilton “Woman of the Year.”

More recent Women of the Year, like Scarlett Johansson and Halle Berry, may lack the talent of a Kate, Liz or Meryl, but at the very least, they are easy on the eyes.

But Paris Fuckin’ Hilton?!? Whose talents include cocksmoking in grainy homemade videos, flashing her cooter in public, drunk driving, and introducing the phrase “That’s hot” into our cultural vernacular? Paris Hilton with the lazy eye? What?!?Is this one of those meta-things, which Ivy League whippersnappers are so damned fond of, like a joke of a joke?